Thursday noon series : music and poetry

a CD) bane --28

of MUSIC

G,

UNIVERSITY
OF TORONTO

Thursday Noon Series

presents

MUSIC AND POETRY

Dylan Thomas
(1914-1953)

John Hawkins
(born 1944)

Fern Hill
In My Craft or Sullen Art

Professor Eric Domville, reader

Nightsong (1995)
poem by Dylan Thomas

Matthew Leigh, baritone

Akemi Mercer and Chris Wilshire, violins
Caitlin Boyle, viola

Ariel Barnes, cello

Danny Tones, marimba

John Hawkins, conductor

The Work of the Painter and the Poet - Professor Eric Domville

Francis Poulenc
(1899-1963)

Le Travail du Peintre (1956) :
Sept Mélodies sur des Poémes de Paul Eluard

I. Pablo Picasso
II. Marc Chagall
III. Georges Braque
IV. Juan Gris

V. Paul Klee

VI. Joan Mird
VilJacques Villon

Matthew Leigh, baritone
John Hawkins, piano

Thursday, March 1, 12:10 p.m.
Walter Hall

Free

Edward Johnson Building

80 Qu

ark CiSScer

Baritone Matthew Leigh graduated from the University of Toronto’s Faculty of Music in 2000
with an honours degree in vocal performance. Upon graduation he was the T€Ccipient of the St.
Andrew’s memorial scholarship. Since that time he has been kept busy investigating the
wonderful repertoire of Robert Schumann, and most recently, Francis Poulenc. Matthew is a
student of Patricia Kern and hopes to continue his musical education in a Post graduate
programme.

Eric Domville is a Professor Emeritus of English at Trinity College, University of Toronto. His
main research focused on the writings of W.B. Yeats. Currently, he offers courses on opera in
the Continuing Education Division of St. Michael’s College and collaborates on a course
including a history of song in English with his wife, Professor Jean MacPhail, at the Royal
Conservatory of Music. For the last few years he has served as a member of the
Speakers’ Bureau of the Canadian Opera Company. Most recently he gave pre-performance
talks on Henze’s Venus und Adonis and Puccini's La Fanciulla del West.

Composer and pianist John Hawkins joined the Faculty of Music at the University of Toronto
in 1970 and has specialized in the analysis and performance of twentieth-century repertoire.
Since 1994 he has organized the Music and Poetry lecture/concert series which features vocal
literature of the last century. So far, over 35 works by 21 different composers have been
performed. Hawkins’ latest work, Summerdances for solo clarinet, winds and percussion
will receive its first performance on March 31 at 8:00 pm in the MacMillan Theatre. The
premiere features clarinet soloist Peter Stoll and the University of Toronto Wind Symphony,
under the direction of Stephen Chenette.

Nightsong (1995) John Hawkins

In My Craft or Sullen Art

In my craft or sullen art
Exercised in the still night
When only the moon rages

And the lovers lie abed

With all their griefs in their arms,
I labour by singing light

Not for ambition or bread

Or the strut and trade of charms
On the ivory stages

But for the common wages

Of their most secret heart.

Not for the proud man apart.

From the raging moon I write

On these spindrift pages

Nor for the towering dead

With their nightingales and psalms
But for the lovers, their arms
Round the griefs of the ages,

Who pay no praise or wages

Nor heed my craft or art.

Dylan Thomas (1914-1953)

Le Travail du Peintre (1956) Francis Poulenc

Pablo Picasso

Entoure ce citron de blanc d'oeuf informe

Enrobe ce blanc d'oeuf d'un azur souple
et fin

La ligne droite et noire a beau venir de toi

L'aube est derriére ton tableau

Et des murs innombrables croulent
Derriére ton tableau et toi l'oeil fixe
Comme un aveugle comme un fou

Tu dresses une haute épée dans le vide

Une main pourquoi pas une seconde main
Et pourquoi pas la bouche nue
comme une plume
Pourquoi pas un sourire et pourquoi
pas des larmes
Tout au bord de la toile ou jouent
les petits clous

Voici le jour d'autrui laisse aux
ombres leur chance

Et d'un seul mouvement des
paupiéres renonce.

Surround this lemon with shapeless eggwhite
Coat this eggwhite with a supple delicate blue

Even though the straight black line surely comes from you
The dawn lies behind your painting

And countless walls are crumbling

Behind your painting and you your eyes fixed
Like a blind man like a lunatic

You are raising a tall sword in the empty space

A hand why not a second hand

And why not a mouth as naked
as a feather

Why not a smile and why not
tears

At the very edge of the canvas where the tacks
are playing

This is the daylight of other people
let the shadows have their chance

And with one blink of your eyelids
renounce.

Marc Chagall

Ane ou vache cog ou cheval
Jusqu'a la peau d'un violon
Homme chanteur un seul oiseau
Danseur agile avec sa femme

Couple trempé dans sons printemps

Lor de I'herbe le plomb du ciel
Séparés par les flammes bleues
De la santé de la rosée

Le sang s'irise le coeur tinte

Un couple le premier reflet

Et dans un souterrain de neige
La vigne opulente dessine

Un visage aux lévres de lune
Qui n'a jamais dormi la nuit.

Georges Braque

Un oiseau s'envole,

Il rejette les nues comme un voile inutile,
Il n'a jamais craint la lumiére,

Enfermé dans son vol

Il n'a jamais eu d'ombre.

Coquilles des moissons brisées par
le soleil.

Toutes les feuilles dans les bois
disent oui,

Elles ne savent dire que oui,

Toute question, toute réponse

Et la rosée coule au fond de ce oui.

Un homme aux yeux légers décrit
le ciel d'amour.

Il en rassemble les merveilles

Comme des feuilles dans un bois,

Comme des oiseaux dans leurs ailes

Et des hommes dans le sommeil.

Ass or cow rooster or horse
Even the skin of a violin

A man singing a single bird
An agile dancer with his wife

A couple steeped in their springtime

Golden grass and leaden sky

Separated by the blue flames

Of health and of dew

The blood grows iridescent the heart rings

A couple the first reflection

And in a tunnel of snow

The abundant vine sketches

A moon-lipped face

Which has never slept at night.

A bird takes wing,

It throws off the ciouds like a useless veil,
It has never feared light,

Enclosed in its flight

It has never had a shadow.

Husks of harvest grains shattered.
by the sun.
All the forests' leaves
say yes,
They can say nothing but yes,
Every question, every answer
And the dew flows deep inside that yes.

A man with carefree eyes describes
the heaven of love.

He collects its wonders

Like leaves in a forest,

Like birds in their wings

And men in their sleep.

Juan Gris

De jour merci de nuit prends garde
De douceur la moitié du monde
L'autre montrait rigeur aveugle

Aux veines se lisait un présent
sans merci

Aux beautés des contours
l'espace limité

Cimentait tous les joints des
objets familiers

Table guitare et verre vide
Sur un arpent de terre pleine
De toile blanche d'air nocturne

Table devait se soutenir
Lampe rester pépin de l'ombre
Journal délaissait sa moitié

Deux fois le jour deux fois la nuit
De deux objets un double objet
Un seul ensemble 4 tout jamais.

Paul Klee

Sur la pente fatale le voyageur profite
De la faveur du jour, verglas et
sans cailloux,
Et les yeux bleus d'amour,
découvre sa saison
Qui porte a tous les doigts
de grands astres en bague.

Sur la plage la mer a laissé ses oreilles
Et le sable creusé la place
d'un beau crime.
Le supplice est plus dur aux bourreaux
qu'aux victimes,
Les couteaux sont des signes et
les balles des larmes.

By day give thanks by night be wary
Half the world was gentleness
The other half showed blind rigidity

A merciless present could be read
in the veins

In the beauties of outlines
limited space

Cemented all the joinings of
familiar objects

Table guitar and empty glass
On an acre of solid earth
And white canvas and night air

The table had to support itself
The lamp to remain a seed of shade
The newspaper abandoned its other half

Twice the day twice the night
From two objects a double object
A single whole forever and ever.

On the fatal slope the traveller takes advantage
Of the favourable day, icy-smooth and
without pebbles,
And his eyes blue with love,
discovers his season
Which wears on every finger
great stars as rings.

On the beach the sea has left its ears

And the sand has hollowed out space
for a noble crime.

The torture is worse for the executioners
than for the victims,

Knives are omens and
bullets are teardrops.

Joan Miré

Soleil de proie prisonnier de ma téte
Enléve la colline, enléve la forét.
Le ciel est plus beau que jamais.

Les libellules des raisins
Lui donnent des formes précises
Que je dissipe d'un geste.

Nuages du premier jour,

Nuages insensibles et que rien n'autorise,
Leurs graines briilent

Dans les feux de paille de mes regards.

A la fin, pour se couvrir d'une aube
Il faudra que le ciel soit aussi pur que
la nuit.

Jacques Villon

Irrémédiable vie
Vie a toujours chérir

En dépit des fléaux

Et des morales basses

En dépit des étoiles fausses
Et des cendres envahissantes

En dépit des fiévres gringantes
Des crimes a hauteur du ventre
Des seins taris des fronts idiots
En dépit des soleils mortels

En dépit des dieux morts
En dépit des mensonges
L'aube I'horizon !'eau
L'oiseau l'homme l'amour

L'homme léger et bon
Adoucissant la terre
Eclaircissant les bois
Illuminant la pierre

Et la rose nocturne
Et le sang de la foule.

Paul Eluard (1895-1952)

Predatory sun prisoner of my head
Remove the hill, remove the forest.
The sky is more beautiful than ever.

The dragonflies of the grapes
Give it precise forms
Which I dispel with a gesture.

Clouds of the primeval day,

Insensitive clouds sanctioned by nothing,
Their seeds are burning

In the straw fires of my gaze.

Tn the end, in order to clothe itself with dawn
The sky must be as pure as

night.

Life never curable
Life ever to be cherished

Despite scourges

And base morals
Despite false stars
And encroaching ashes

Despite grinding fevers
Crimes below the belt

Dried up breasts idiotic faces
Despite the mortal suns

Despite the dead gods
Despite the lies

Dawn horizon water
Bird mankind love

Mankind light-hearted and good
Sweetening the earth

Clearing the forests
Illuminating the stone

And the nocturnal rose
And the blood of the masses.